Calling
by brightspark
Summary: Seifer hears a familiar voice calling, and is gradually lured further and further from home. SeiferxSquall.


Ultimecia promised to teach him how to fly.

It was that which had tempted him, more than anything else, something he'd wanted for so long. He wanted to fly. He wanted to be able to look down at the world – he wanted to be powerful, he wanted to be a Knight, he wanted to fly. Ultimecia promised him that, that and more, everything in the world if he would only submit to her. So he did.

And well, she had broken all her promises.

She'd given him dreams. Dreams of flying, of soaring, but never reality. He thought that she couldn't _really_ give him wings, couldn't transform his body. He thought that she had lied.

The war ended, and he went back to his old life. He went back to Garden, and thought that he would never fly. Somehow, because that one dream could not come true, he felt as if none of them would. He was happier then, anyway. Seifer Almasy, the Sorceress's Knight, became Seifer Almasy, the SeeD, the one who would do anything to protect people and who would harm as few people as he could.

And he made friends with Squall.

Later, more than friends.

A year after all of it ended, he was even more or less liked.

But sometimes in his dreams he still felt the old itch, the old calling, one that had started back before anything else started, from when he first started to really fight against Squall. Maybe even before that. A call he'd known all his life, perhaps, one that set him apart with a need. A need that went deep into him, a need to be the best, to be a Knight, to protect. A calling. A calling that he later realised was a call to Ultimecia's side.

Ultimecia had needed him. Had always called him.

He knew from the dreams that she wasn't dead. That somehow, she was still alive. Sometimes, he was glad, and sometimes, it sickened him. When he woke at night _knowing _that she was out there, reaching for him, he never woke Squall. Squall lay beside him, oblivious, Seifer hardly even noticed him, and he reached. He sent everything out, hoping, praying that his Sorceress was alive, and at the same time, fearing it.

In the mornings, he would regret the reaching, and somehow would try to make up for it, doing things for Squall, for others. Sometimes being with Squall, loving Squall, looking down at his face in the dark, that was enough to make him stop reaching and lay down, wrapping his arms round him and trying to sleep. Sometimes that little ache and throb of love, and the knowledge that Squall felt the same, was enough to get rid of the itch.

One night, he found her.

She promised again. Wings, and power, and blood on his blade. And he promised to protect her. He left Squall's bed and set out, drawn by that tendril of power reaching between them, a thread. Found her, knelt by her feet and wondered at it all. Wondered how she could be there, in their time, why. Whether he was going mad. But she let him lay his head in her lap and she told him what to do.

Go back to Squall, she said. Make him believe that nothing is wrong. I will give you your wings.

And then, she'd said, dreamy and smiling, already triumphant, exciting and sickening Seifer, oh, and _then_... they'd take the power they deserved.

He did as he was told. He apologised to Squall, a thousand apologies, he promised not to just run off again, made up a story and covered his tracks so well. But he started slipping after that. Life hadn't been _enough_ without her, he realised, and wanted to have her back. That controlling, guiding, _giving_ power in his life that needed to be understood for the glory it was, and protected – that understood him and his need, and let him do what he had to.

He felt the itching between his shoulderblades, an itching in his mind, and more and more he would leave Squall, barely even noticing how it hurt Squall (what was love compared to _flying_, to _power_?). He walked outside, alone, and wondered what the world would look like when he and his mistress had it in the palm of their hands. He didn't realise that Squall knew he was losing him. He didn't realise that they were all getting ready. That Rinoa had felt his mistress and that Squall knew he had betrayed them.

And one night he felt the skin of his back ripping.

He felt, all of a sudden, a change in his body, he felt light surround him and his mistress was _there..._ he arched forward as the wings grew, the bones growing out of his shoulderblades, he felt all the new skin and then he felt the feathers grow, each like a knife stabbing through his flesh... black feathers, and dripping with blood... he was screaming.

He had wings. Like an angel, like a bird. He knew now that they were powerful enough to carry his weight. They would carry him so high, high above the world, and he could look down. He wasn't even thinking about Squall then. Fuck Squall, fuck all of them. He had what he wanted. He had what he wanted and no one would take it away. His mistress hadn't lied.

"My Knight," she said, softly, and she smiled at him and he _felt_ like an angel. "Kome to me."

There was a shout.

Squall was there. Lionheart in his hand, the others at his back. The throb of love Seifer felt wasn't as strong as it once was. Wasn't strong enough to keep his eyes on Squall. He turned to his mistress, felt the blood dripping down his back, felt the pain, beyond all imagining.

"Kome to me, my Knight," she said again, and oh she was triumphant and smiling and laughing, and he stretched out his wings, felt them stretch, the skin stretch, felt the power and the glory of the black, black feathers and the weight on his back, and he stretched them further and –

"Please," was all Squall said, pale faced and desperate, and that little throb of love pulsed in sympathy, "please don't."


End file.
